Reviews/Music; June Anderson in 'La Sonnambula'

By BERNARD HOLLAND

Published: February 16, 1991

Eve Queler brought her Opera Orchestra of New York back to Carnegie Hall on Sunday night, this time with a concert version of Bellini's "Sonnambula." It was all that we have come to expect, fear and, in the end, look forward to.

There were as usual Ms. Queler's indecisive conducting, a perfunctory chorus, an out-of-tune orchestra. But there was also, as usual, her distinctive audience: a mix of society, money and that fanatic fringe of operagoers hungry to hear the latest hot new name from Europe and the repertory they hardly ever have a chance to experience first hand.

Bellini's eloquent study in bucolic innocence satisfied all demands on Sunday. The vagaries of performance constituted a not unexpected surcharge on the ticket price.

Central to all this was June Anderson as Amina. Ms. Anderson's soprano has an edge of challenge to it. It is a voice we are loath to love and yet cannot easily put aside. Its tough, hard, primary colors can sound unpleasantly aggressive, as they did during the first scenes on Sunday.

That there are darker corners and cooler shades to this voice became apparent as Ms. Anderson settled into her surroundings. Indeed, if the beginnings of this "Sonnambula" saw her at her worst, the sorrows of "Ah, non credea mirarti" and the joys of "Ah! non giunge uman pensiero" at the end distilled the fierce genuineness that she can summon.

What one also ends up admiring is a sort of personal courage. There is no facet of her voice that she is ashamed of, no trace of coy defensiveness. Whether it is the exposed pianissimo of "Elvino! Alfin sei mio" or the opera's climactic high note soaring above both orchestra and chorus, Ms. Anderson takes her problematic sound and lays it on the line.

The fresh face for New Yorkers belonged to Raul Gimenez, the Argentine tenor who has sung Elvino with Ms. Anderson in Europe and did so again on Sunday. Mr. Gimenez's cultured sound and fineness of delivery calculated Carnegie Hall's acoustical ambience perfectly. The voice rang without forcing and projected understandably even at its quietest. There is an attractive musical energy in everything he does.

Paul Plishka was a resonant Rodolfo. It may be simply the eyes playing tricks on the ear, but Mr. Plishka's new slimmed-down figure seems to be accompanied by an even higher level of singing than we have become accustomed to. Lynda Keith negotiated the role of Lisa without mishap; Eugenie Grunewald was a warm-sounding Teresa; William Walker was Alessio and Gregory Cross was a Notary.